Zach POV of Hope to spy
by SimplyOlive
Summary: REVISED everyone wants to know the thoughts and motives behind our favorite spy, Zach. Read hope to spy through his eyes. Maybe he'll give you a little insight in the world of Blackthorne and the "Chameleon"
1. Blackthorne Boy

**Disclaimor: I don't own this story. **

**Important: So I've already written some of Zach's POV to Cross My Heart and Hope to Spy on this website, but that was before the fourth book came out. The fourth book revealed a lot. So then I decided to revise his POV. Hopefully, I don't give too much away. This may contain spoilers if you haven't yet read only the good spy young, but they're really subtle. I suggest you give my story a try. It won't be perfect, considering Zach's a pretty mysterious type of guy. Well, enjoy :]**

Two miles. I, Zach Goode, sprinted through the woods for two miles. A light sheen of sweat covered my muscled body. My breathing was easy and steadfast. This was nothing. Two miles was simply a warm-up with the hard training I had dealt with. However, this two-mile run wasn't about getting in shape or challenging myself to push past my limit (there should be no limit after all). No, this two-mile run was about two goals: focusing and not focusing. Focusing on my surroundings, yet not focusing on the troubled parts of my mind.

My first goal was instinct. It was easy to let my eyes observe the barren wood, the ground cloaked in snow. It was easy to allow my ears listen to the whistling wind, my feet padding along frozen ground. It was easy to let the husky woods invade my scent, the cold tighten my muscles, the bitter breeze bite my tongue. Focusing and observing was what I had been trained all of my life to do.

Not focusing on things no fifteen-year-old guy should have to know is definitely a thousand times more difficult. Some of the things I've witnessed can't be turned off easily. I wish I had a light switch in my brain to do that. I know a little part of my mind wants me to whine "why me?" at moments. They say ignorance is bliss. But I know that will never happen in my world.

What exactly is my world? Well, I'm going to narrow it down to one word: spy. That's actually why I'm documenting my life. I need practice for reports. People say reports suck. No one wants to go through a dark (but exhilarating) mission to come back and write about it. So what better way to prepare for this than writing about my dark (but exhilarating) life? Something good is bound to come from this cool, manly journal that I'm taking an effort in writing.

Anyhow, I finally stopped at the barred entrance to my school: Blackthorne Institute for Boys. From one look at it, someone would instantly think prison. Barbed-wire fence. Check. Searchlights and security cameras. Check. No trespassing sign. Check. Surrounded by mountains. Check. Huge brawny guards. Check. Bright yellow jumpsuits. Check. Dragons. No. (That would make everything way cooler though.) Basically, these were all the works for a private detention facility (except for last thing, of course).

I would say our cover worked out nicely. Sometimes we would go for a run or do some drills close to the town in our sexy jumpsuits and see actual civilians. Usually when they saw us, they would start walking briskly in the opposite direction or stare and shake their heads. Sometimes, the more warm-hearted ones would smile sympathetically and wish us a good day (as if you can have a good day in a jumpsuit). On rarer occasion, a few teenagers had found it funny to laugh and yell out insults. (You could totally tell that they were wannabe thugs though). The point is no one wanted to go near Blackthorne, and no one wanted to see us "juveniles". Given the situation, we liked it that way. Perfect cover.

A grim-faced guard stopped me at the entrance, bringing me out of my thoughts. "What's your name, son?"

I decided to stay quiet as he started checking me over. Fingerprinting me and all. I knew this was a "prison" but I know he knew who I was. So what was with this extra security?

He fidgeted. His face read impatient. "I think I asked you for a name."

I wanted to roll my eyes. I'm Zach Goode. Member of the Blackthorne Institute. Spy. Or at least, spy-in-training. I have every right to be here. And even if I'm dressed like a thug, I'm not actually one.

"Can I call you Jimmy?" I asked. He didn't respond. If looks could kill, I think would be dead now. "Well, _Jimmy_, you and I both know this whole encounter is completely unnessary. I know you, and I know you're name isn't really _Jimmy_." I pointed at myself. "And you know me. You know we're tight." I demonstrated by holding up my hand and crossing my two fingers. "Like this. Now, can I just-"

"Name!" _Jimmy_ was touchy today.

"Zach." I smirked. "You saw me go out for a run twelve minutes and twenty-one seconds ago, remember? I haven't changed." He almost looked disappointed at that news as I gestured at my sweaty attire. "Except for maybe the fact that I'm covered in my perspiration. But hey, that's normal. Fact of the human body."

He looked down at me, expressionless. "Sorry, kid. New protocol." His hand skimmed over the weapon at his side, as if I would be against this new rule. Maybe I was. All of this pointless interrogation was wasting my precious time. "Don't worry, _Zach_," he said my name the way I said 'Jimmy', "this is only for today." Then he began his long list of questions about my life. I answered robotically, until I realized what he had said.

"This is only for today," I quoted him. "What's so special about today?"

He hesitated, clearly contemplating whether he should tell me or not. "Well, it's the first day back."

"And?"

"And I believe that we might be getting a few visitors." He stopped there. Well, that was enough for me. I sighed as he continued his questions, counting the minutes and seconds this was taking. If protocol said I had to go through this, then I might as well practice my internal clock.

Finally, after four hundred and twenty-one seconds, I was let go, and I decided to push the surprise visitors from my mind. Sure, it was interesting news, but I had a feeling I would find out soon enough.

I shuffled forward into the dark building, and the smell of cleaner came to my nose. No matter what anyone did though, I think there would always be that dirt and grime feeling underneath. _Welcome home_, I thought.

A sigh came out of my mouth. I still couldn't think which was worst: my winter break or this school. Winter break consisted of highly classified family business I didn't want to be a part of, and school was basically repetition of techniques I already knew. Plus, my school was a disguised prison. That could depress a guy. On the otherhand, I think being with my family was an _actual _prison. The two ideas battled in my head as I made my way through even _more_ security to the main hall.

People were still arriving and arriving slow. I blamed this on stupid security and stupid _Jimmy_. I groaned internally and decided to lean against the stone wall, steady my breathing, and simply observe. Everything was exactly like before. Not one toe out of place. Yep, my school was just as unwelcoming as ever. Yet it had a reputation for breeding the best spies, hardcore spies, genius spies. And other things too, but that's a different story.

Then I thought back to the _Jimmy_. Visitors. Who would be visiting Blackthorne? Who would want-

"Attention, everyone," Dr. Steve, our "headmaster", called out to the audience in attempt to calm the crowd, completely stopping my train of thoughts. He raised his right hand for emphasis. No one stopped talking. Everyone was too busy shivering from the cold to want to listen. They were probably telling stories from break as well.

Typical teen behavior. Well, as typical as spy teens in yellow jumpsuits could be. I'm sure typical teens don't break into foreign prisons to break out incognito spies. I bet that typical teens don't know how to speak fourteen different languages or crack impossible government codes. Typical teens probably haven't hijacked a plane or gone to various places in the worlds in that aforementioned plane. I think I'm proud to be called an untypical teen.

"Please, if I could have your attention." Finally, everyone's voices dropped. "Excellent. I'm glad all of you have made it back safe and sound, and I hoped you enjoyed your winter break."

Yeah right. I wish I could say I loved my winter break, but then I'd be lying. This school was the best escape from my family I had, and I definitely do not have that poster family, dog-with-a-white-picket-fence life. I guess that doesn't come in the package of an untypical teen.

"Before I begin, I would like to discuss with you a change in our curriculum and an opportunity for fifteen students." He paused. People shifted their feet. I yawned. "Some of you may or may not know it, but we are not the only school for spies." And of course, the crowd went wild. This included my two roomates, Grant Anderson and Jonas Dale, who I could see through the pack of students. Both had a look of awe on their faces.

I rolled my eyes. I mean, hello? Where else would the most dangerous female agents be produced? I already had personal experience with one. Let me tell you. You definitely don't want to cross them. "Silence, please. This semester, with the collaboration of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, an exchange program has been organized."

Now I was interested. A ticket out of Blackthorne.

With girls included.

I could already feel a smirk reach my face.

I was totally and completely in.

BBBBBBBBBBBB

Joe Solomon. Toughest, unknown (the best are the ones you don't know) spy to many. Dangerous, most admired alumnus to us. Why would a man like that way down here, in my covert operations class?

When I say 'way down here,' I literally mean way down in the ground. Covert operations class will be and probably always be instructed in a classroom below land. For some reason, they want to keep this subject extra secretive. I think this has to do with us being spies. Just a little.

"Hello, Blackthorne Institute," Joe Solomon announced to the class. Absolute silence greeted him. Our best alumnus, best spy was here and everyone wanted to hear what he had to say. After learning some of everything he's done, it's impossible to not want to be like him. Even my dear old mother respected him. "As you've heard, the top three students in the grade will be going to Gallagher Academy. I, myself, will be teaching a little bit of CovesOp. Therefore, I'm Mr. Solomon to you."

I smiled inwardly. I knew I would have to be chosen. Sure, I'm conceited but I'm one of the best. No one could deny it, even if they didn't like my cocky demeanor. Later, I would learn his motive for teaching. He didn't seem like the type to just quit the forces, and he wasn't old enough to retire.

Dr. Steve entered behind Mr. Solomon, pulling a woman with him. "Boys, this is Headmistress-"

"-Morgan," the woman cut him off. Around the room, I could see my fellow classmates share smirks with each other. They probably all thought the same thing.

Headmistress Morgan was a babe.

However, at the mention of 'Morgan', I instantly stopped thinking of her looks. Something about her surname was all too familiar.

Well, I guess I have just discovered who these oh so mysterious visitors are. Go me.

"I-"

"-of Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women," Dr. Steve interrupted her back, determined to finish his introduction. He smiled at the class, proud of himself. "Gallagher. Gallagher. Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. Wow, what a mouthful! Very prestigious n-"

"Yes, a prestigious name is a good cover for a disguised pretentious school," Mr. Solomon barged in, knowing Dr. Steve could turn a small introduction to a very boring monologue.

"So-"

"Oh yes, it's an honor to have this amazing woman with us in person," Dr. Steve continued. "Ex-"

"It's an honor to be back here too, Dr. Steve," Mr. Solomon replied a little too sharply. Dr. Steve beamed, obviously unaware of his not-so-friendly tone.

Ms. Morgan cleared her throat all business-like and smiled. I guess she was kind of hot. From the other guys' expressions, they clearly thought so. "In a few weeks, three students will enter our walls and learn what this school's about. I cannot deny that your education here is one of the best. However, this exchange program is about placing yourself in a new environment, getting to know the future female agents you will be working with someday, and learning something from one of the top academies in the world."

"Excellent, Rachel," Dr. Steve chimed in. "I couldn't have said that better myself." For once, I totally agreed with the doc.

Mr. Solomon nodded, completely disregarding Dr. Steve, and stepped forward. "The three that are chosen must understand that every school has their own secrets. People have their own secrets."

He paused and I could've sworn I saw his eyes flicker to mine. "You may be welcomed at this school, but if you start digging around for files you aren't meant to touch, then you'll be sent back here for punishment and I will see through that you get what you deserve. My warning is not meant to be taken lightly. As for Blackthorne's secrets, you are to keep them between the brotherhood you have here. I don't want this information to be spread too far and too wide."

His piercing glare caused the room to shiver, proving subtly that he was dangerous and not a force to be reckoned with. "I hope you understand."

He looked straight at me.

What. The. Heck.

"That's right. This man here lays down the laws," Dr. Steve said enthusiastically. "He's excellent. The very best. All of you should-"

"Thank you, Joe, but I believe that keeping secrets is second nature with these gentlemen," Ms. Morgan commented lightly, trying to break the tension that hung throughout the room. "At least, I hope this school has drilled that into them."

"Certainly," Mr. Solomon murmured, finally looking away.

"Now to business," she replied brightly. "We don't want to take time away from your learning." She pushed a strand of hair from her face. "So based on test scores, grades, recommendations from teachers, and your personal files, we have made a decision. It wasn't easy, gentlemen. You're all very exceptional." She began scanning her clipboard.

"There's no way I would turn this thing down," Grant, who is not only my roomate but my usual partner-in-fighting, whispered not-so-quietly to me. "Anything to get out of this joint, man. And these yellow things." I nodded in agreement. Out of all the words for jumpsuit in the English, French, Russian, etc. dictionary, Grant came up with 'yellow things'. Now I remember why I liked him so much: he kept things simple. Very simple. And hey, at least he knew the color of our uniforms. That's a huge sign that we're dealing with a genius here. "And away from Dr. Steve," he continued. "And we _still _get to be kick-ass spies. _And_ we get to be kick-ass spies in an all _girls _school!_"_ I almost expected him to jump out of his seat in glee.

"Grant Anderson," the headmistress' voice rang through the classroom. He bolted back into his seat. "Would you be willing to participate in this opportunity?" Relief, then surprise, and then excitement flashed through his face. His face was like an open book. He definitely wasn't chosen for concealing emotion skills. Maybe it was the fact that he was the best at physically beating up or possibly killing someone. I knew I could always count on him to back me up.

Grant pumped his hand in the air and yelled, "Yes, ma'am!"

She smiled and then looked back onto her clipboard. "The other young man is Jonas Dale, but I believe he isn't taking CoveOps." She looked up and the silence proved she was right.

I could have bet that the genius of geniuses would be picked and won. He could be the next Albert Einstein or something. He deserved this.

"Last but not least, Zachary Goode."

I heard disappointed sighs across the room and I smirked. "Definitely." Yup. Definitely not the least.

Mr. Solomon shifted his feet.

I don't understand what his attitude toward me meant, no matter how subtle it was. I can't deny that it made me feel a little uncomfortable. No way would I back out of this program though. Even if this spy seemed like he didn't want me there. I ran my hand through my hair in annoyance. He doesn't know anything about me. I can't be on his bad side already.

"Excellent. Excellent. Excellent!" Dr. Steve said as if saying 'excellent' three times would make 'excellent' even more excellent. "Grant, Jonas, and Zach will be traveling with me. This is great, boys." I shook my head, rolling my eyes. "Excellent, even." Quality time with the very excellent Dr. Steve. Fun right? Not. I could hear Grant groaning quietly at this news. I guess you can't get everything you want.

"Kill me," Grant whispered.

I snickered, raising an eyebrow. "That could be arranged," I joked.

"Girls," he muttered to himself. "Girls. Just think of the girls. Not Dr. St-"

"It's an honor that these top three students and/or athletes will be boarding at the Gallagher Academy," Ms. Morgan announced, stopping our conversation. "This means dining with us, sleeping with us, learning with us, and most importantly, working with us. I hope that you gentlemen will make the best of this exchange program in every way possible."

I smirked. Mr. Solomon and Dr. Steve flew out of my mind. The only thing that mattered was that I was getting out.

Out of Blackthorne.

Here I come Gallagher. Here I come.

* * *

**So that was chapter one. Reviews are awesome :] **


	2. Below the Belt

**So one year later- update! Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Really I am. I don't like saying I'll do something and never actually do it. So here I am, finishing this story. Can't tell you the next time I'll be updating, but let's aim for less than a month. :] Remember that this is _Zach's _story. Cammie will come in soon. Probably by the fourth chapter.**

"Ello gov'na!," Grant conversed with me as if we were in England, sipping our afternoon tea. Which was, in fact, what we weren't doing. Instead, he had me in a headlock as we wrestled in Protection and Enforcement class, or in other words, P&E (an equivalent to PE but with less emphasis on the education and more emphasis on the physical). "Smashing to see you my dear boy." And with that, he flipped me over and we both hit the floor, with my face being first in line to greet the mats. Grant laughed. "Get it? Smashing." He demonstrated his pun by smashing my face to the mats once again.

I rolled my eyes as his laughter got louder at his not-so-funny joke. You see, when Grant laughs, it's more than a little "_tehe_". I wouldn't even call it a guffaw. When Grant really laughs without restraint, I think most, if not everyone, would categorize his laugh under hyena. And, let me tell you, when you're nailed to the floor under a 200 pound male with seven percent body fat who's wailing into your ear, it's even less pleasant.

Luckily, the fool left my right leg free and, being too distracted by his laughter, Grant didn't notice me slink my leg between his and use his weight to roll both of us over. Now I was on top of him, pinning the hyena to the floor in victory.

"_Dayummmm_, Zachy," Grant lost his pseudo British accent in defeat. "K, man, I give. Let me up." I didn't move. "If you get off me I'll get you ice cream for the teeth you lost when I kicked your-" I pulled his arm, "_-ow_," and grinned a full-tooth, pearly white smile, showing Grant that all of my teeth were, indeed, still intact.

I smirked. "I don't think so, dude. I think I might recall someone smashing my head into the floor. And laughing. Not cool. Especially the laughing."

"Hey," he whined. "Some people think my laugh is cute."

"Like who? Your mom?"

"Ouch," Grant huffed. "Talk about below-the-belt, Zach-a-roo." He shifted his weight, pushed up, and elbowed me, causing me to fly off his back. "You know what else, young grasshopper, is below-the-belt?" He charged forward, aiming to one particular place. The type of place that has caused many great men to keel over in pain. The place I was always set to protect.

Most guys right now would be a little nervous watching a mountain of muscle come charging toward them. But not me. Then again, I'm Zach.

Zach Goode.

And Grant seemed oblivious to that fact. He was so zoned in to his target that he didn't notice, for instane, when I shifted my weight, readying myself to side step. He also didn't notice me pivot, getting ready to strike. And he especially didn't notice my fisted arm fly up as he entered my strike zone. So yeah. The doofus ran his body right into my arm, knocking the air out of himself. I followed it up by another punch and a kick, knocking him to the ground.

"I think I do, screaming hyena," I replied to his last comment as I put my hands together and bowed slightly. "You have taught me well." I wish I could say our immature sprawl ended there, but Grant grabbed my legs and pulled me down. And then any restraint fifteen-year-old guys had was let go. And yes, that meant a fun game of kicking and screaming.

"Boys!" the deep voice of our P&E teacher barked. Once I finished my punch, I turned to apologize, since I wasn't sure how I ended up in this mess. But then my buddy Grant used my distraction to his advantage and kneed me in the groin. I wish I could tell you I played it off cool. I wish I could've said "groin-shmoin". But even I'm not immune to pain, and a groan emanated from my mouth. _Ow._ His eyes lit up in victory, but let me tell you, he was _so _not getting the last punch. So being the very smooth, very suave spy I am, I _might _have accidentally stepped on his hand as I fumbled up, and I _might _have dug the heel of my foot into it somewhat, really hard. I also _might _have smirked as Grant let out a whimper. But who really knows? This is top secret stuff.

Except for the fact that- I won.

"I am outraged!" The heavy footsteps of the Mr. McPherson stomped toward us. "We are in this class to learn of the martial arts. The martial arts is sophisticated combat. The martial arts is dynamic and graceful self-defense. The martial arts builds mental and spiritual character." Our teacher threw two burly arms up in the air in frustration. "What the martial arts is _not _is a brawl fueled by the testosterone of ridiculous, hormonal young men. This isn't playtime, gentlemen."

I tried to hang my head in shame. I really did. I mean, if there was any time to bring out my espionage skills, now was it. But I couldn't. I cursed myself as a smirk rose to my face. Which, of course, made Mr. McPherson's beady little eyes bug out and begin another rant.

So, I zoned out. Well, I stopped listening anyways. Instead, since I had mastered lip reading, my eyes focused on the words McPherson was forming. Although his light mustache was somewhat distracting, I read something along the lines of "Martial arts is different from a normal punch. It's different from a normal kick. It's different from…"

Blah blah blah. No. A punch is a punch is a punch.

And then a low voice broke through my teacher's booming lecture, saving the day, "Good evening, Mrs. McPherson." I knew that voice. I had heard that voice for the first time today a hundred feet below ground. It was the voice of a dangerous spy. Mr. Solomon was in my P&E class, and he was watching McPherson reprimand us. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Mr. Solomon's gaze shifted from Mr. McP-

Hold on. Solomon called McPherson _Mrs. McPherson_.

Mr. McPherson was Mrs. McPherson.

He was a she.

Mr. McPherson was a woman. A _married _woman. _What?_

My. Mind. Is. Blown.

And now Mr. Solomon's gaze was looking directly at Grant and me. "Unfortunately, I'm only in town for today. Although I can see you're giving the boys some much needed discipline, I need to borrow them." I'm pretty sure the shock of being introduced to a certain Mrs. McPherson was still worn on my face, which didn't go amiss under Solomon's scrutinizing expression. Surprisingly, he smirked. A smirk that could rival my own. I always knew I'd like this guy.

"Take them," _Mrs._ McPherson growled. She _growled_. "They've already interrupted the class with their _dirty_ fighting, disgracing the beauty of martial arts." My eyes darted between the mustache, the huge mole on her face, and then to her huge, manly arms (in a surreptitious way of course). No way was McPherson a female. No way. Maybe there was a sex change for, you know, security reasons.

I shook my head and turned to follow Mr. Solomon, but Grant didn't move. Grant, who supposedly took on three armed men by himself, remained frozen. Grant, who could, hands down, beat any one of us in a fight, armed or unarmed, stayed glued to the floor. Grant, the closest guy I could call a friend and my partner in crime (or fighting crime) blurted out, "You're a girl?"

The last thing we heard as we ran from the room was "outrage!"

BBBBBBBBBBBB

"It seems as if I had good timing," Mr. Solomon remarked as he shooed us into a sterile, closed-in room that can only be described as a box. The only thing that sat in the aforementioned box was a smooth, stainless steel table, two chairs, and a polygraph machine. "You gentlemen certainly know how to ruffle the calm and charming Mrs. McPherson." I studied his face, unsure whether he was amused or not with the situation, but then the tiniest smile appeared on his face.

"Sorry, sir," Grant mumbled. "I really didn't mean any disrespect. I was just, I don't know, dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Insane, I think."

Now, it seems, I recover my acting skills and (thankfully) I held in a guffaw. "No one blames you," I patted his shoulder as if I were a concerned friend, but really, if I hadn't been trained as a spy my entire life, I'd probably be rolling on the floor laughing. Today was a truly smashing day indeed.

"A spy is supposed to be able morph under any circumstance," Mr. Solomon informed us, "even this type of circumstance." Grant winced. "But no worries, I didn't come here to lecture you or give you the biggest shock of your life." (which brings me back to ohmygosh McPherson's a girl) "I'm here for basic security protocol. Although the Blackthorne Institute trusts you, you don't get a free card into Gallagher. I've already finished the usual background checks, and the security guard helped move the process along." His eyes flickered to me. "I do hope you made it easy for him." I smirked. Oh _Jimmy_. He was a good guy. Me? Not so much.

A knock on the door interrupted Mr. Solomon's speech and a frame of shaggy hair appeared through the door crack. "Mr. Solomon?" a voice squeaked. The door creaked open to reveal a skinny boy of the male specimen. "Um… I got lost?" he said as if he still wasn't sure if he found the right place. "Sorry I'm late."

He stumbled through the door, which made the room shrink, proving that this box was usually used by two people. "Don't worry about it, Jonas," Solomon assured the class genius (a genius without a sense of direction). "The fault is mine. I told Dr. Steve to escort you, but evidence clearly shows that he did not." He walked to the one of the chairs, which was directly in front of the polygraph machine.

"Now gentlemen," he continued as if there were no interruption, "when I did my security checks on you three, for the most part, you've all come up clean." When Mr. Solomon said "for the most part", he meant no one here at Blackthorne had a sterling white record. Although none of us had broken the law for any selfish needs (we've broken it plenty of times during specific, government operated missions), we needed an excuse to be locked up in a juvenile detention center. I mean, if anyone did hack into our records (no matter how secure), I think they would notice if all of the guys here were being hauled to jail without reason. Thus, I am proudly in here for armed burglary.

Mr. Solomon cut through my thoughts, "However, I, on behalf on Gallagher Academy, would feel more, well, at peace to debrief you thoroughly, thus this polygraph machine." He motioned to the only real item in the room, which looked at us stoically, ready to screw us over if our heart beat dared to change. "Although you've probably been taught to beat it already, please do not lie." He took the time to look sternly at each and every one of us. "Because if you're caught lying, no matter how petty it is, you will be expelled from this exchange program. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," the three of us said in unison. Solomon's intense gaze made us uneasy.

"And I can truthfully say that I will know when you're lying."

BBBBBBBBBBBB

"What's your name?"

I fidgeted in my seat (which was clearly made for the purpose of not standing since comfort was nonexistent) and blurted out, "Zach Goode." That was the truth, right? I've had many names since I was thrown into this life from a nice, young age, but Zach was the real one (I think).

"What school do you attend?"

"Blackthorne Institute for Boys," I said confidently, allowing my training to catch up with me. To become a part of me.

"What year are you?"

Another easy question. "I'm a sophomore." I watched as Mr. Solomon fiddled with the machine, a process I knew like the back of my hand. In order to tell if a person was lying, you had to know how they told the truth.

"Will you pledge to keep the Blackthorne Institute and all their business_ Blackthorne's _business?"

"Yes," I replied. As if I would betray my own kind.

"Promise me. Right now. Once you make this promise, the consequences of breaking your oath are high. Very high."

I held up three fingers, shouting 'scouts honor' inwardly, since I'm sure screaming that in a very serious room of debriefing is frowned upon (even though a scouts honor is very serious). "I promise I will keep the Blackthorne Institute's and all of its alumni's secrets within the walls of Blackthorne." The machine had my back as the ink indicated that what I was saying was true. Solomon nodded, approving of my vow.

"Will you adhere to Blackthorne's rules, even though you're at a different school, and will you adhere to their rules as well?"

Hmmm. A double set of rules. "I'll _adhere_ to them as much as I adhere to them now." Mr. Solomon raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I wasn't lying and that's all that mattered.

"Do you plan on attending this exchange program for the purpose of learning?"

"Yes," I paused. "Among other things."

Which of course prompted the next question, "What other things?"

Flashes of the few, civilian girls I saw on rare, P&E group jogs went through my head. The only look they gave us was one of disdain (I guess these yellow thingies are somewhat off-putting). Imagine going to a place where the females actually _wanted_ and even appreciated you there. _Heaven_. Great, now I sound like Grant. "Well, seeing as there are going to be _girls_ at this school, why not form beautiful bonds of friendship?" Among other things. As long as they didn't look like Mr.- I mean Mrs. McPherson. Not that she's ugly, well, in a sense. She _did _have shiny, short hair. Some guys thought that was cute. Her _husband _clearly did. Poor guy.

Solomon looked up at me for the first time. "You don't ask the questions, Zach, I do. Now, why do you want to go to Gallagher Academy, asides from the education."

"I want to form beautiful bonds of friendship," I repeated, but this time making my question declarative. Solomon squinted at me, as if trying to put together a puzzle.

"Let me tell you something, Zach," one of the most admired man in this building said, "You've been truthful to me. I'll be truthful to you. I didn't _really _set up this polygraph on behalf of the Gallagher Academy." I raised an eyebrow. "I mean, when I brought it up to the staff, they were unanimously behind it. However, why I really did this was so I could talk to _you_, Zachary."

My thoughts went back to this morning, during the first CoveOp class of the semester. All of the strange looks from Mr. Solomon were beginning to make since. Well, almost. "Ok, I'm here, right where you want me." I motioned at myself. "Which is due to your scheming and plotting."

"I didn't _manipulate _you to come here," Solomon tried to tell me. "I simply wanted to converse with you in a place where I definitely knew wouldn't be bugged. It's really what I call an excuse, not a scheme." I furrowed my eyebrows. His _excuse_ attached me to a polygraph machine, which I could beat five out of six times. The odds might be in my favor, but all it took was one lie.

However, no matter how angry I appeared, I couldn't help but feel slightly flattered he'd 'scheme' for me. "Ok, so how do I say this? Zach, I don't want you to come to Gallagher." And there goes my happy feeling.

"I thought something was off," I responded. "The moment Headmistress Morgan said my name."

"You know, Zach," Solomon continued, ignoring my last statement completely, "trust is a hard thing to come by in the life of a spy." I nodded, knowing this. "Friendship is even rarer. We find ourselves alone in the long run, even if we don't try to be." He looked wistfully off in the distance, which was an expression I didn't expect to find on the many faces of Joe Solomon. "But I digress. What I'm tying to say is I don't trust you."

"But you trust Grant and Jonas?" I pushed back, not wanting to lose my place in the program.

"Well, no," he replied, "but I trust you even less. The least, actually."

I stared before asking the obvious question, "Why?"

He said something that made my blood freeze. The polygraph went crazy, trying to prove a lie I hadn't actually said. "I know your mother."

I paused, "A lot of people know my mother. This isn't exactly killer news." Even though it was.

"Let's just say I know the type of work she does. And let's just say that the apple doesn't far fall from the tree." He cocked his head at me.

"A chip off the old block," I grinned.

"Are you implying you work together?" he responded calmly, accessing my reaction.

"I have yet to be inducted into the family business," I rolled my eyes. "So that means it's top classified. And even though they still haven't allowed me to partake in _anything _yet, I still get a headache from it." I didn't have to look to see whether or not I was telling the truth.

Solomon leaned back in his chair (which I'm sure added more pain to this tense conversation) and twiddled his thumbs. "I thought it over, Zach, and I've decided, since allowing you to enter Gallagher Academy is ultimately _my_ decision, that you're allowed on this amazing exchange program to form 'beautiful bonds of friendship' on two conditions. No questions asked. No negotiation." I watched intently as he held up one finger. "One, you will not tell your mother where you will be spending your semester at for as long as you possibly can." He held up another finger. "And two, I need a favor."

**So hopefully Zach didn't seem too out of character. In the books, I see him as this mysterious, untouchable dude. But I wanted to show him as a real _guy_. And guys aren't always known for their maturity. Review :] They motivate me. Not gunna lie.**


	3. Driver's Ed

**A/N: Hi! So before you begin reading, I just want to recommend this one story called A Rendezvous in Paris by madeinchina26. It's about Zach and his life as a thief before he meets Cammie and changes her world. There's only two chapters up so far, but the author is amazing. In fact, she and I are the same person. You see, the story used to be under this account called La ville lumiere, but I made a new one and put the story under the other account. And I'm _really_ excited to write that one particular story, so I think ya'll should be pumped to read it too ;). Just saying. Well, here's the next update! And it was within a month! I'm proud of myself.**

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There was nothing abnormal about the guy in front of me. His slick DC shoes, which prevented his baggy jeans from brushing along the ground, didn't scream unusual. There was nothing weird about the belt around his waist, even though it did nothing to hold his jeans up (and showed off a tad of his boxers). It was also deemed typical to wear a dark, heavy sweatshirt, which adorned the teen's broad shoulders. The unzipped hoodie, which showed off an old band tee, was considered customary, along with his hair that was hidden in a baseball cap, under the hood of the aforementioned hoodie.

The teen scrunched his eyes at me, as if he were deliberately trying to find something off, before reaching to his wallet and checking its contents. The leather wallet contained a few bucks and an ID, which read Chad Dozego. No one would've suspected that this typical teenager was actually very atypical. No one would've suspected that this teenager usually wore yellow jumpsuits. As I looked at myself in the reflection of a van, I knew no one would've suspected that he was actually a spy.

"Chad!" I heard someone call my alias. I cocked my head to the right and saw a very disheveled Rande Stronnag waving his arms at me. Rande, for the lack of a better word, was a hipster. Grant (aka Rande) was unrecognizable under the flannel shirt, skinny jeans, and hipster glasses. The only thing that gave my partner away was his doofus tendencies. "Stop being a girl and get in the van!" He patted to a seat next to him.

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm the girl, huh? Who's the one wearing skinny jeans?"

"Touche," he laughed. Most people wouldn't appreciate getting burned, but Grant didn't mind people one upping them. He encouraged it, in fact, because later, he'd do something crazy to get even with them.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be too crazy this time around.

Taking the seat next to him, I buckled myself in, knowing exactly what we were doing today. As a fifteen-year-old, I was about to partake in one of the few abnormally normal teenage passages: driving.

I call it normal because all teenagers learn how to drive (unless they're New Yorkers and have no need to). But it's abnormal because it's one of the few laws in which we actually have to follow, meaning we have to wait until we are of age to drive. And considering we have to learn how to save the world with our brains, our brawn, and our gadgets, I think it's bizarre that we have to wait until _now_ to drive since the ability to get from point A to point B is vital.

But whatever.

My mommy taught me how to drive anyways.

As soon as I was tall enough to reach the accelerator and break pedal, I'd been driving around town without the government's knowledge. Of course, my driving instructor (which was Dr. Steve), didn't know that, so I pretended to pay attention when he was describing tedious things like how to stop at a stop sign and how you should put your blinker on to signal which way you're turning.

"Ok, Chad, please tell me which way you turn your wheels when parking down hill on a curb," Dr. Steve asked, in hopes to get me confused.

"Right," I answered confidently, "because if your vehicle breaks don't work then your car will roll into the curb rather than the street."

When he didn't trip me up, he turned to my partner. "Rande, when coming to a four-way intersection and both you and the car to your right pull up at the same time, which one has the right-of-way?"

"Oh, dang," I heard him mutter. "I don't know this." Louder, he said, "The person to your right?"

"Excellent guess, Rande," Dr. Steve replied brightly, "but you shouldn't be guessing." He looked at his watch. "Hmmm... I think we're missing something." He turned to us for answers. "What am I missing?" We shrugged. "Excellent, so we're safe to move on."

Then he shot questions at Grant and me, barely giving us time to think over it. It's almost strange how we're normally so much more intelligently advanced than the average teenage population, but now that we were learning to drive, we're at the same level.

Finally, after about an hour of lecture, Dr. Steve turned on the engine and allowed the van's wheels to begin rolling slowly (and when I mean slow, I mean at a snails pace) along the gravel that would lead out of the facility. In order to keep cover, we pretended that the van was transporting us prisoners between juvenile detentions.

Before we could make it that far, however, I saw movement in the rear view mirror. "Dr. Steve," I called out to him, interrupting his lecture on accelerating.

He _tsked_ me before he scolded, "Chad, please do not speak when I am talking. We have a lot to run through before you go galloping off to Gallagher Academy. Now, I know you think you know this, but you never—".

"Dr. Steve," I stopped him.

"Chad. That's the second strike."

"Dr. Steve," I ignored him and pointed. "Look in the rear view mirror."

"I'm giving you a warning, Chad." He sighed and adjusted his mirror. Within seconds, the vehicle came to a halting stop. "Oh my, I see we've forgotten Jonas." He looked at us accusingly. "Why didn't you remind me?"

As soon as Dr. Steve left the van, I scrambled up to the rear view mirror and watched the reflection of Jonas. He was waving his arms and running as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he never was good at the physical stuff and as soon as he saw the car stop, he dropped to his knees, panting.

"Jonas's coming!" Grant practically squealed. "I love that little guy." Then he looked in the rear view mirror along with me and we saw Dr. Steve pull him up with him. How Dr. Steve ever became part of our school is a mystery because, frankly, he was an idiot. The first rules you learn is never leave a man behind, and our _teacher_ almost does exactly that.

"Do you know what that means?" I smiled deviously as Jonas hobbled to the side of the van.

"Does that mean he's in?" Grant asked, surprised that I would change my plans. Today, we wouldn't _only _be driving, but doing some major research once we were out of Blackthorne.

"Of course he's in," I looked at Grant like he's insane. "He's the best hacker in our grade. Probably the best hacker since the beginning of Blackthorne. We need him."

When Dr. Steve lumbered back into the van, nothing to him looked different, because to him, nothing was. But when Jonas entered the van, it only took one look on our faces before he squeaked, "What?"

BBBBBBBBBBB

"There might be buffaloes."

"Buffalo?" We all raised an eyebrow and turned to Grant.

"Yeah, buffaloes." Grant spread his arms wide. "They're big, they're brown, and they look like they have a hump back." He hunched over before bringing his fingers to his head and proceeded to point them outwards. "And they have horns."

"Rande," Jonas interrupted, "we know what buff—"

"I don't know what a buffalo is," I replied with a straight face.

"Well, Chad, if you must know, they're hairy," Grant continued and wriggled his fingers, which I think was supposed to be a hand gesture of hair on a buffalo. "And their faces look like this." He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, which made him look like a constipated pregnant woman.

Jonas and I bent over in silent laughter as Grant continued his buffalo impression, unaware that we were making fun of him. But then he opened his eyes, and although we tried to look as innocent as possible, I was pretty sure my mouth was still twitching.

Realizing that he was the butt of the joke, he opened his mouth but then closed it. An evil glint sparkled in his eyes. "But you know what buffaloes sound like?" Before I could open my mouth, Grant opened his and let out a sound that was a cross between a donkey and a duck, "_ONNNNNKKKKKKKKKKK_."

"Grant!" I yelled out. "Ok, we all understand what a buffalo is."

"My name's Rande," Grant reminded me. "I don't listen to those who address me as 'Grant' outside of the Blackthorne." And then he let out an even louder, "_ONNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKKKKK_!" My hands shot up to cover my ears, and then he winked at me, which told me without words that this was his way of getting even with us.

"Rande," Dr. Steve said Grant's alias, "when I asked you to give me an example of hazard, a buffalo is not the correct answer."

I could see Grant becoming indignant. If he wasn't addressing a teacher, I imagined him stomping his foot. "But they are! If you get out of the car and take a picture of one, they'll gore you! They'll use their horns to pick you up and throw you. True story."

"Who would be dumb enough to take a picture?" Jonas asked in wonder.

"Tourists," he said curtly. "Who can't speak English."

"Tourists in Wyoming?" I laughed. "Wyoming." Because that's they only place I can think of buffaloes to be.

"Well, they're probably traveling between states! And when they enter Wyoming, they probably can't read the signs that say 'don't pet the buffalo.'"

"Rande," Dr. Steve interrupted him, his patience getting a little thin, "while it's excellent that you like to think outside of the box, I was thinking more about the hazards that happen here in Maine. And buffaloes rarely cross the streets. A hazard would most likely be ice."

Grant huffed and crossed his arms, before muttering under his breath, "Buffaloes are cooler."

Finally, the van pulled to a stop, indicating that we were in a place where we could switch drivers. "Mr. Dozego," Dr. Steve began brightly, now that Grant was finished being a buffalo, "since you seem to be the expert at driving, do you want to take the wheel first?"

Without even giving me time to answer, Grant bounced up and argued, "Excuse me, Dr. Steve, but I know cars better." And he did (well that's what he told me, at least), but Dr. Steve looked over him doubtfully.

"Just because you know about cars, Rande, doesn't mean that you have the ability to drive them—"

But Grant was already out of the car and in the drivers seat before Dr. Steve could even finish his sentence, leaving me in the backseat with Jonas. As Grant adjusted the rear view mirror, he winked at me. "It's all about the learning experience, Dr. Steve."

Step one complete.

Then he revved the car a few times. "I've always wanted to do that," he shouted into Dr. Steve's ear before shifting the gear to drive. "And off we go!" We all lurched into motion as he slammed on the accelerator, and Jonas tightened his grip on the door handle, as if waiting to jump out of the car if something went wrong.

For awhile, all I did was observe my surroundings, just in case there would be some sort of pop quiz (and not a fun one) when we got back to prison (or school). We were in a suburban area in a neighborhood with identical houses. All the grass was covered in white, fluffy snow, and had a picket fence lining the yards. Occasionally there was a dog barking in the background.

The American dream was so not my dream.

"Look, Jonas—" I began but then the car jerked forward, bringing everyone forward with them.

"Slow down, Rande!" Dr. Steve was clutching the side of the car. Since we couldn't afford specific driver's ed vans to keep our cover, we literally just drove normal vans. Which meant that the only person that had control over the car was Grant. "There are children in these neighborhoods. Children."

Dr. Steve caught his breath and then got out a clipboard, ready to scribble on it furiously. "Remember the hazard we just talked about."

"Buffalo?"

"No, Rande. I'm talking about ice! Ice."

I smiled. Grant was being difficult on purpose, which created a nice distraction for me to talk to Jonas. I zoned out Dr. Steve's and Grant's bickering before nudging him.

"I have a mission for you."

Jonas raised an eyebrow. "I thought so."

"Someone gave me a job to do," my thoughts went back to Mr. Solomon and his 'favor', "and it involves your hacking skills."

"Okay?"

"I'll tell you more about it when we're," I paused and looked at Dr. Steve who was currently telling Grant to watch out for old lady who was getting out of her car, "out of ear-shot."

"Does Grant know?" Jonas whispered back.

I nodded and replied, "Why do you think—" I was cut off because Grant had skidded the van off the road. The van hit a bump, almost flipping us over. I actually felt us slide as one side of the van's wheels came off of the ground. And once we landed, we just continued to spiral in circles. Luckily, there was plenty of space to do our ballet dance on the huge football field that we had driven into.

"Why do you think he's acting dumber than normal?"

Dr. Steve yelped, "There's a goose, Grant," forgetting his alias, "there's a goose! You kill that goose and you're not driving until your fifty!" The goose squawked and flew out of the way as we continued to barrel through the lawn.

Jonas squeaked as we clutched the sides of the car. "Can he be a little dumber when my life isn't at risk?" I shut my eyes, silently agreeing with him.

The twirling became slower and slower, and I waited for a crash, regretting the faith I put in Grant when he claimed he was the best worst driver. I guess 'worst' in the title 'best worst driver' should've been a little more emphasized.

But the crash never came. When I reopened my eyes, very cautiously, I realized that we had come to a stop. I peaked up to Grant and he mouthed, 'we're here'.

Ignoring Dr. Steve's protests to stay together, I stumbled out of the van behind Jonas, and found myself at a public library, which was across the football field. With wide eyes, I noticed the marks in the grass that showed exactly where we skidded. "Is there where—?" Jonas didn't finish, he was just so shocked.

"Yes." This was where we planned on doing some master hacking.

We gaped at the library, which was huge, the perfect size to get 'lost' in. Pesky people wouldn't be asking us what were doing here, and unlike Blackthorne, our web history wouldn't be closely scrutinized.

"How'd he do that?"

Before I could respond, Grant came up and told us, "I'm just that talented. Did I not tell you that I was the best worst driver ever? You should've seen your faces!"

Just then, I heard a round of applause.

Dang it.

As a criminal, it was extremely important that we didn't bring attention to ourselves. Also, an audience meant that I couldn't slug Grant even though my palm was itching to do so.

I turned around cautiously, hoping whoever saw us wasn't smart enough to notify the police. But what I saw instead made my head spin.

Girls.

A group of girls around our age were clapping loudly, clearly impressed with our near-death stunt. This was the first time I had seen any that didn't run in the opposite direction. I guess the ladies didn't want to play with criminals.

But then I realized I was playing the part of a normal guy.

I winked, loving the part, and then they all looked at me and screamed, "That was so amazing!" Which naturally made me smirk, but before I could take credit, Grant nudged me.

"Actually, girls," Grant raised his arms and stepped forward, "that was all me."

"Yeah," I replied, "the moron has a death wish I think. He thinks it's funny to get back at me by threatening my life." And that gave me a perfect excuse to slug the guy like I wanted to. "And all I did was call him a girl for wearing skinny jeans." The girls giggled and I punched Grant again. See what I mean when he does something crazy to get even?

_"Ow, _Chad," he whined and rubbed his arms. "Ignore him. That stunt was perfectly safe." Even though it wasn't. "He's just a wuss." Before I could kick his balls for that, he leaned into me and whispered, "Hey, Dr. Steve told me he was going to find someone to help fix the car. Something happened to engine." He winked, knowing exactly who broke the engine. "It won't start up again. So I'll take the girls and make sure they don't tell anyone," we paused to look over at the girls who still wanted to talk to us, "and you and Jonas can do your research. Capiche?"

I rolled my eyes. I'm pretty sure there were other reasons he wanted to talk to them and it didn't involve trying to keep their mouths shut about seeing us. "Capiche," I answered.

I watched as they walked off before turning to Jonas. In less than three weeks, we'd be living at a school with guy-deprived girls. I guess I could wait a little longer to talk to one.

Once girls were out of my head (insane, I know), I held out my hand and showed Jonas the reason for Grant's driving and the reason I wanted to utilize Jonas's computer skills. In my hand was a piece of paper Solomon had given me a week ago in order to to complete his favor. "Her," I told him as he read the neat handwriting. "We have to find her."

Sprawled across the paper read the name Cameron Ann Morgan, aka 'The Cameleon'.

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**I think the next chapter will be with Cammie. But IDK. I still have to write it.**

**Review please :)**


	4. Gallagher Girl

**Sooooooooo it's been awhile but update! Hopefully these chapters are running smoothly together. Enjoy! or don't! no one's forcing ya. And I don't own anything.**

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"So she's a pavement artist?" Grant repeated as we dumped ourselves on a bench. I rotated my shoulders, stretching as I did a 360 of the area.

"A good one," I replied with a slight nod. "And apparently some sort of rebel."

"Ooh, juicy," my partner grinned before rubbing his hands together, trying to warm up from the cold before stretching himself. As he turned around, he probably noticed, like me, that we weren't sitting on a typical bench back at the prison/school, but we were sitting on a bench that happened to be in the park of the nation's capital. And he probably noticed the boy spitting into the fountain, a family taking pictures, and the helicopter that was descending from the sky.

"Do tell," he continued, smirking like a girl who was about to hear the greatest gossip ever.

"I don't know," I teased, keeping the aforementioned helicopter in my line of vision until it disappeared into a canopy of trees, "if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

He responded by punching my shoulder lightly. "You mean, if you don't tell me, I'd have to kill _you_."

"Nope. I'd get to you first."

"Not likely. Look at me." He held up his biceps. "Look at these guns." A group of girls who had heard our conversation giggled and he winked at them as they passed us by.

Rolling my eyes, I pretended to inspect them _(them_ as in his "guns", not the girls), before pinching them. "Cute."

He dropped his arms. "Don't change the subject."

"What were we talking about?" I feigned stupidity.

"Mr. S asked you to watch over some girl."

Not just some girl. But a _Gallagher girl_. Best type of girls in the country.

"Yeah."

He rolled his eyes. "I drove us to the library. I helped you hack into the town computers."

"That was Jonas," I corrected him. "You almost killed us."

"Get over it Zachy," he whined. We sat in silence for a few minutes before I decided to give in and tell him.

"Well, I did mention to you that she's a pavement artist, right?"

"Cameron?"

"Who else would I be talking about?

Grant said nothing, waiting for me to continue. "Well, apparently she got into some trouble last year. I don't know how or why but she kept sneaking outside of the school."

"So?"

I looked at him sternly. "For the whole semester."

His face lit up, finally understanding. I continued, "Do you know how hard it is to keep that up? With all of the security? With your mom being the headmistress?"

"Whoa, her mom's the headmistress?"

"Uh," I rolled my eyes. "Let's see. Headmistress Morgan's last name is Morgan. And Cameron Morgan's last name is Morgan. Maybe they're related."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Why her?" Grant questioned. "Why is she so important that Mr. S put you on babysitting duties?"

"Not a babysitter," I grumbled, avoiding a question that I too wanted to know the answer to.

When I didn't answer, Grant fired off another question, "What happened to the dad?"

"I don't know," I paused and hesitated before saying, "but doesn't the surname Morgan sound familiar to you?"

Before he could answer, I saw a couple of girls in tan jackets and private school skirts being followed by some loser in a red cap.

"Do you see what I see?" Grant mumbled.

I smiled, remembering the descriptions of the uniforms Mr. Solomon had told us before planting us in Washinton D.C.

The Gallagher Academy was here.

Wiping the grin off my face, I tried to stay cool, like an Abercrombie & Fitch sort of cool but with a shirt on.

"Follow or don't follow?" Grant voiced the same thing I was thinking.

Before I could answer, the words "Look at the bright side, Cam", floated into my ears.

Cam.

As in Cameron Ann Morgan.

As in the "Chameleon."

As in a Gallagher girl. As in _the_ Gallagher Girl.

"Follow."

I'm not sure who said that, but it didn't matter because now we had a target, and not just a target, but a Cameron Morgan target.

We watched as her friend swirled around in circles, hiding in plain sight. When they made it about thirty feet from us, she put her arm around Gallagher Girl's shoulders and squealed, "Oooh, I want one."

"They're not puppies." I bit my cheek, trying not to laugh at that one.

Then her friend said, "Come on," and grabbed her hand. "Let's go and talk to them. They're really cute!"

Grant shot me a look and I knew what he was thinking. Was it possible that these spies from a top secret agent school were going to make our jobs easier?

But then the voice of reason came through, "Bex, we're on a mission." Bex and Cam. We now knew two of their names.

"Yeah, but we can multitask." I silently added encouragement to that statement. And not just for business purposes.

"No, Bex. Talking to civilian boys during a CoveOps exercise is a bad idea. Trust me." I frowned slightly before Gallagher Girl continued in a sing-song voice, "_It's all fun and games until somebody gets their memory erased._"

"Wow," I heard Bex say, but now they were too far away to listen to anymore, even for my hearing.

Gallagher Girl was becoming even more of a mystery. She didn't seem like a threat. She didn't seem like a trouble maker. Why was I supposed to be giving her extra attention? I mean, her rep made her seem like this sneaky, rebel spy. But in person? Gallagher Girl was just your typical, cute girl.

Which makes her the amazing pavement artist that she is today.

And what was she talking about memories getting erased?

There was definitely more to this story. A story that I couldn't possibly even dream of hacking into.

I saw out of the corner of my eyes that the two friends from Gallagher Academy had stopped again, and using my amazing lip reading skills, I saw Bex mumble, "Not over J-" J-something.

What is a J-something?

Grant yawned loudly, cutting through my thoughts. "Let's go Zacheroo. Time to give these girls a run for their money."

I looked back up to wear the girls were a few seconds ago, but they were gone.

"Uh," Grant paused and stretched while spinning in circles a few minutes later, looking for the couple of girls that had disappeared. "Did we lose them?"

"We didn't lose them." No way was I going to admit that we had, in fact, lost two girls we were supposed to be shadowing in only two minutes.

"Then where did they go?"

I smirked as I saw a guy in a red baseball cap change into sweats. "We follow him."

"No, we're supposed to be following girls."

I began walking a few steps behind the man in the sweats. "The girls are just going to send us on a wild goose chase, and that man knows it. In fact, he's going to join the wild goose chase himself, but for now, he's just going to show up where his partner tells him to. Because when his partner loses the girls, that guy in the sweats is going to pick up where his partner left, and vice versus."

"So?"

"So he's going to lead us to them without having to run around extensively."

"So should we break up too? One follow this guy and the other follow his partner?"

"Nope, we're just two normal guys. One guy alone is more suspicious than two."

Grant thought that over before whining, "But stalking girls is so much more fun than stalking this old guy."

"Stalking girls is more exhausting."

"Stalking girls gives us a better view."

"Stalking girls will send us in circles."

"Stalking girls gives us a better view."

"You already said that."

"I know. It's just that much truer."

"Grant."

"Zach."

"Shut up."

"What's got your granny panties in a wad?"

I looked at him exasperatedly. "If we're going to go to a school with girls all semester, we've got to earn their respect. And how do you earn a fellow spy's respect?"

"By showing them up."

"Exactly."

He frowned, "What if they're the type of girls who are sore losers?"

"What do you mean?" I asked when I really meant to say 'why does that matter'?

"Like what if they hate us for beating them instead of respecting us?" Grant answered. "Girls have pride, you know, and some of them don't like to lose."

I rolled my eyes. "What do you know about girls?"

"Don't you mean, 'what do _you_ know about girls'?"

I paused for a second. Grant had a point. We had no idea how they were going to react.

"Look, Grant," I answered slowly, "we don't know what they're going to do, but we're still going to prevent them from accomplishing their mission. Because that's our mission."

"Ok."

"And we don't want to let Solomon down."

"Oh yeah."

I laughed. "You forgot about him."

"Maybe." He looked up to see two girls running out of the museum to our right. One was an exotic teen with cappuccino skin and the other one was your average American girl who I wouldn't have noticed unless I did an extensive amount of cyber hacking and stalking on her. Which I had done.

Most people would think that they were just two average girls. Most people would think that they were just in a hurry. But most people weren't like Grant and I, and we knew better.

I smirked, feeling my competitive side wash over me. "Let's see how Master Pavement Artist herself feels about role reversal."

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

"What are you doing?" Grant hissed as I came to an abrupt stop thirty-nine minutes and twelve seconds later.

"I'm hungry," I stated as I stood in front of a vending machine, "and it's perfectly normal for a guy to be hungry. It's even a good cover."

"Not if we lose the shadow."

I shoved my hands into my jeans, searching for some quarters. "Well, I want some chocolate." I finally found the sixty-five cents I needed and slipped it into the machine. "If you want to watch a guy in sweats change into a navy lieutenant, be my guest."

Grant crossed his arms, and looked away, looking exactly like a friend who was annoyed that his friend had stopped to get a bag of M&M's out of a vending machine, even though Grant was, in reality, subtly making sure red-cap-guy turned guy in sweats turned navy-lieutenant-guy would stay in our line of sight.

After ripping open the bag, I stuffed a huge handful down my mouth, savoring the little chucks of chocolate. These were the first sweets I had eaten in a long time.

But now I had to concentrate on the fact that the demeanor of the shadow we had been shadowing hadn't changed until now.

Which meant game time.

I nodded at Grant. It was time to finish the mission.

"Zach, how do we know that the girls haven't already found what they were looking for?"

I didn't want to think about that possibility. "They haven't, or else that guy wouldn't have been called into action. They're close," I looked down at my watch, knowing that the girls were running out of time. "If they want to complete their mission on time, they have to do it now. All we have to do is make them late."

"Easy."

We walked behind the lieutenant until we saw a group of girls, the exact group of girls whom Grant had winked at earlier. Now that we had seen Gallagher Academy in person, I noticed that the Academy's uniform and the girls' outfits were very similar.

Perfect cover for desperate spies.

Grant and I kept about ten feet away from the group, close enough to follow and eavesdrop, but far enough to change direction if need be. (By the way, I learned that the girls thought I had a hot bod and smoldering eyes and that I was supposedly checking out their legs, even though I wasn't). However, sixty five seconds later, the caution wasn't necessary as Gallagher Girl and her friend came flying down the sidewalk. And just like I had predicted, the two girls took off their jackets and meshed into the aforementioned crowd as they began to descend down an escalator that would take them to the underground Metro station.

I almost laughed when Gallagher Girl opened her mouth and exclaimed, "I love your bracelet!" Compliments are even better than candy when it comes to strangers. Speaking of candy, I stuffed another handful in my mouth before I saw one of the girls in the group shoot me a look while Gallagher Girl and the rest of the group became buddy-buddy.

When we descended deeper into the ground, one of the girls whispered to her friend in a not-so-covert-like-way, "Are they back there?"

Her friend peered up at us and grinned, "They are _so_ following us!" Which was true.

But then the other girl leaned in and said, "These two hot guys have totally been checking us out." Which wasn't true.

Knowing that Gallagher Girl would take the chance to look back, I stared off in the distance, not wanting to meet eye contact just yet. The people you remember the most are usually the people you've made direct eye contact with. And it wasn't time for that yet.

When we finally made it to the bottom, a train was already at the station, and Bex screamed, "Let's run and get it!"

My first instinct was to do what Bex had said, which entailed running and getting the train just like everyone was doing. Their new friends were rushing into the train just as the doors were closing. Navy lieutenant guy was barely able to jump into the last car of the train before it started to take off from the station. However, I knew that if Bex had screamed, "Let's run and get it!" so obviously, then obviously, they would do the opposite.

Grant and I stayed put at the bottom of the escalator, and as everyone filtered out of the station on the train, two girls were left standing, attempting to hide under the escalator, and through the chaos, they had succeeded. I almost laughed as Navy lieutenant guy pressed himself onto the window, knowing he failed his mission.

Unike Grant and me.

Now that the train was gone, there were only two places for the girls to go: up the escalator or up the elevator. I looked at my partner, and now I remembered why I always wanted Grant on my side: with just one glance, he knew what I was thinking, and he already was ascending the escalator, making sure he was one step ahead if the girls were to go that way. I would be covering the elevator.

Lucky for me, the girls decided to split up. Bex went up the escalator while Gallagher Girl went to the only other exit out of the Metro Station.

I knew a lot of things as I headed toward the elevator. I knew Gallagher Girl had twenty minutes left to complete her mission. I knew I still had chocolate to finish in the bottom of my pocket. And I knew that this was the time to get to know the person I was asked to babysit for the rest of the semester. What I didn't know was what type of cover I was supposed to use. Sexy and mysterious? Cute and cuddly? I've only had so much experience as a normal guy, ya know?

Once Gallagher Girl made sure that her friend wasn't being followed (even though she was), she slipped toward the elevator. Toward me. And tried to press the button, but I beat her to it.

Before I could decide how I was going to act, the first thing that came rolling out of my mouth was-

-"Hey."

**BBBBBBBBBBBBB**

**Review and maybe I'll update before next year ;)**


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